


Pluto

by AdikaOfMandalore



Series: Pluto [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adorable Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV), Again, Character Death, Din Djarin x Reader - Freeform, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mando and Reader are two dorks that need to talk about their feelings, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Soft Mando for everyone, apparently I can't write him in any other way, baby yoda has a name here, but we get there eventually, history of touches, this is gonna be an escalating serie so beware, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-02-20 08:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22946062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdikaOfMandalore/pseuds/AdikaOfMandalore
Summary: Of silent love and first timesSo show me where my armor ends/Show me where my skin begins – Pluto, Sleeping at Last
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Original Character(s), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Series: Pluto [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1649080
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	1. Phosphenes

**PHOSPHENES – The lights and colours produced by rubbing your eyes**

* * *

_The first time you and the Mandalorian brush hands is by complete accident, but none of you can deny the jolt of pure electricity running under your skin at that mere, flying touch; the want –_ need _– for more._

Mando is wary, even more than usual, and all he wants to do is quickly grab the provisions you need for your journey across the galaxy – the only reason you landed on Lith, in the first place – and then hurry back to the relative security of the Razor Crest and outer space, but you and Adika, his foundling, clearly think otherwise, bouncing as your are from one stall to the next of the crowdy Lithanian market, utterly fascinated by the trinkets on display and conversing lightly with the vendors willing to – and everyone in this planet appears to be incredibly friendly, to his dismay.

«Mando, look! – you exclaim, caressing reverently what seems to be a rectangular piece of silk in pure bliss, endearingly mimicked by the kid you are securely hugging to your chest by your free arm. – Look at the shades on this! Isn't it beautiful? It's like a rainbow transferred to fabric, with the colours fading towards the ends. See?»

All you receive in response is a curt nod, but that doesn't diminish your wonderment.

You've been travelling with the introvert Beskar-clad man for quite some time, now – ever since you left your aunt Peli in Mos Eisley to work for him – so you've grown used to his silence. You really don't mind it, most of the time, since you are, in contrast, very lively and chatty and are very well able to talk endlessly even with a rock, if you really are in the mood.

You couldn't be more different, you and Mando, but you wouldn't have it any other way. You find his brusque façade and short responses reassuring, somehow, and treasure every single verbal reply you manage to get from him, may it be just a simple “mh mh” or an actual, constructed sentence.

He stops by your side, bag filled with supplies slung over his back, and, too, studies the portion of cloth. If he's appreciating its workmanship or not, it's hard to tell, but you hope he is; living his life of bounties and battles, blood and violence, you suppose he never took some time off his daily routine to stop and look at what little, unexpected art life has to offer in every corner of the galaxy. Little do you know, he's not paying much attention to the rainbow-y material, admiring you instead.

The unexpected piece of art he was lucky enough to stumble upon.

And to think he found you rather annoying, back on Tatooine!

But now here he is, almost a year later, and completely head over heels for you. It took him some time to adjust to your loud presence, and even way more to admit to himself that he no longer saw you as just a working partner or a friend.

Every day he fells more and more for you and the only thing stalling him from telling you – apart from his secretive nature – is his ever present self-doubt.

He's in his forties – almost double your age – and scarred, both inside and out. And what with his Creed... no, you deserve more that what he has to offer, more than his love.

So he holds back, day after day after day, content in having you as a good friend and hoping, rather egotistically, that you won't leave him as soon as you find the kid's people. He's been alone for so long and now that he's had the chance to know an alternative thanks to you and his child, he's not sure he can return back to his old way of life nor ever forget the two of you.

«It is truly a masterpiece. You made it?» you eventually ask the old seller intent on looking at the three of you with a soft, knowing gaze. The woman, skin as black as coal and a long, silvery braid hanging all the way down her left side, nods with a toothless smile.

You genuinely compliment her once again, before letting longingly go of the cloth and, after prying gently the child's three-clawed hands from it as well, you move to the next stand – a kiosk selling rusty technology from the far far away planet Earth.

Mando, though, doesn't follow immediately after the two of you and linger before the ancient female merchant, a gloved hand brushing the same silky cloth you were holding just moments ago, deep in thought.

_Ah, screw it._

«How much for it?»

* * *

When the former bounty hunter joins you and Adika, he's tense and you can clearly hear his ragged breath through the voice modulator of his helmet.

You momentarily tore your caring eyes from the kid waddling his way towards one end of the tent, mouth agape in excitement at the specks of light reflecting to the ground from the sculptures of tinted glass hanging from the roof, and walk to him, slightly concerned at his dishevelled figure.

«What's wrong?» you pry, stopping at the limits of his personal space, knowing very well how unrequired closeness with another being – that's not his adoptive son – makes him uncomfortable, leery.

«You should have told me you were in there» he says, stiff and matter-of-factly, Beskar helmet tilted in your direction so that you know that he's staring straight at you. You upset him, somehow, and you hate it.

«I'm sorry – you gulp, lowering your gaze in a bashful manner. You didn't mean for him to worry nor to act so impulsively, but when you read the sign at the tent entry, your limbs moved of their own accord, dragging the child with you. – When I was a kid, I used to visit those exhibits with aunt Peli every time they stopped by and the tent's so quiet, so I thought to take the chance and show Adika. I'm sorry» you repeat, stealing a glance towards his unreadable T-visor. He hesitates, shifting ever so slightly his weight from one leg to the other, the Beskar of his armour glinting in the dim light.

«Just... try to stay close by» he mutters in the end, his voice barely there and robotic, strained, in a way.

«You said this planet's safe» you reason, furrowing your brow in mild confusion.

«For the time being, but I'd rather not risk it.»

«Okay.»

«I'm not angry with you, Y/n – he clarifies, noticing your shattered expression. He upset you, somehow, and he hates it. – I didn't mean to lash out like that.»

«I know, don't worry. You're already so stressed out and I'm really not helping. I should have informed you about our whereabouts.»

He doesn't move nor say anything for a long while, for so long, in fact, that you actually start wondering if he somehow left his armour without you noticing, but then a strange sound comes from the modulator; something static and never heard before. It takes you some time to comprehend that he just cleared his throat, moving an uncertain step towards your much minute figure. The tip of your footwear now barely touching his boots'.

«I... I got something. For you» he states, shy, all of a sudden.

You nod, slowly, trying not to push him. Mando never cared about gifts and presents – he refused to tell you his birthday just to avoid you spending credits or whatever for him – so this comes rather out of the blue. But very much appreciated, mind you.

«Here.»

A light blush dusting your face, you make a motion to grab the parcel from his gloved hand, but he's still moving it towards you, so your outstretched fingers, inevitably, collide.

Timid rays of sunshine gleam in millions of rainbow specks all around the dusty tent, when you and Mando touch for the first time in almost a year of moving between the stars for the safety of your Foundling.

The leather – bright orange, for some reason – of the glove concealing his skin from the rest of the world is worn off and thick, but you still manage to feel the warmth seeping from under it. You squeeze his long, slender fingers in yours before you can even consider how wrong it could go.

At first, he doesn't reciprocate the gesture, in fact, he doesn't move at all and the only sound in the empty tent are the soft, happy coos from Adika, now busy trying to catch the reflections of the glass on the soiled ground.

But, then, his hand wraps around yours, the package long forgotten, and none of you let go for a long, long time.


	2. Ripple

**RIPPLE – A small wave or series of waves on the surface of water**

* * *

_The first time you and the Mandalorian kiss, you fear he may not come back from a job and act upon desperation and instincts – not completely aware of the meaning of your gesture in his culture._

«Kid's asleep – you state, exiting the white-clay hub and descending its steps with a not-so-well concealed yawn. – Finally» you admit under your breath, earning a light scoff from the Beskar-clad man before you.

Rolling playfully your eyes at his seemingly rude antics, you join him by the stream that flows behind your temporary habitation – so sparse and secluded you can barely call it living quarters, but cozy and warm at night and relatively safe from prying eyes – and, with a grateful smile when he spread out his cape on the muddy ground for you, you sit beside him with a tired sigh and dropping eyelids. Stiffling another yawn, you gently nudge the man near you and scoot closer to his beskar-clad side, hoping he wouldn't notice the violet shadows under your eyes.

You love Adika with all of your self and taking care of him is kind of the main reason you are travelling with that unusual clan of two in the first place, but, at times, the little womp rat can be rather... _challenging_ and literally drains you of all of your energies. But you don't want to weight more than necessary on Mando's shoulders – the poor man already has enough of his own to deal with – so you try and keep your tiredness to yourself and, during the night-cycle, jump out of your cot as soon as your adoptive child starts stirring and whining because of a nightmare, taking him out for a walk under the unpolluted sky of the planet – or around the cargo hold of the Crest, if you're floating through space – so as not to wake Mando as well.

The Mandalorian visibly stiffles when you cozy up against him, but soon settles down and fixes his grip around the fishing pole with a bashful cough. You smile to yourself, finding his timidness endearing – especially given the fact that he's considered to be one of the best bounty hunters of the galaxy –, and let your gaze wander curiously around. You already forgot the name of the planet you are currently finding solace – _Argentosomething_ –, but you can't deny its peaceful beauty and achromatic, ashy tints.

You stifle a laugh, because, well, the Mandalorian by your side perfectly blends in, with his all-beskar armour – and so does your old, trusty ship, now perfectly concealed under the canopy of metallic-like and sharp-shaped leaves of the forest covering half of the planet.

«I like it there – you let out in a placid sigh, following the glimpses of silvery fishes swimming and scattering just below the surface of the stream. – Caught something yet?»

«Fishing's not really my thing» he mutters with a frustrated grunt. You look at him, opening smiling towards his unreadable helmet, happy that he finally trusts you enough to stop hiding behind a wall of laconic, pragmatic indifference. If you'd found yourselves in this same situation just five months ago, for example, he would have barely acknowledged your words. But now? You actually had a bunch of lengthy conversations – always initiated by you, but still – and he does no longer restrain his surprisingly sarcastic nature. The man has such a dry wit!

And, even though you still have to speak about it, you basically _hold hands_ back on Lith.

«You could always use your rifle to stun them» you tease, glancing towards his Amban weapon, strapped at his broad back as per usual.

He merely looks at you – more than likely rolling his eyes with a silent sigh, you're ready to bet on it.

«Just saying» you grin with a light shrug, looking back at the rill once again.

A comfortable silence fells over the two of you and Mando eventually gives up on his fishing adventure and, dropping the (useless!) pole at his side, just calmly sits shoulder to shoulder against you.

«So – you start after a while, tone audibly more serious, sombre, stealing a glance towards him. Maybe more than just one. – This informant you were telling me about. Are they any good? I mean, you reckon they know something for real or are they just bluffing to ambush you or something? Perhaps you should communicate with them via hologram and-»

«You're rambling» he notices and you can just feel the smirk tinting his baritone.

«I know, it's just... I'm worried. About you, I mean.» Tilting his head to one side, he stares silently at you before, finally, speaking up.

«Why?»

«Isn't it obvious?» you blurt out before you can even think about stopping yourself, face basically _on fire_ , because, really, you never meant for your growing feelings for the man before you to show so explicitly like that. Surely not right in front of said man.

But, oh well, too late to go back, now. And, sure enough, you were never one to shy away from your emotions; you just wish you had had the control to wait for a more proper time.

Mando exhales, but no words nor anything qualifiable as a proper sound leave his vocoder.

«Sorry, I didn't mean to make you unconfortable» you mutter under your breath, dropping your gaze to your crossed legs, your left knee constantly brushing against his right thigh, while starting to nip the hem of your tunic.

«You didn't- I'm not-» You put a hand where you suppose his mouth would be, cold beskar biting at your soft palm, effectively shutting him up.

«You're stammering» you not-so-subtly quote what he said just moments ago, confident in your demeanor even though you're blushing so kriffing hard, by now.

Under the helmet, Din presses his lips togheter, wishing – not for the first time since he came to the conclusion that he liked you in a not so platonic way – for that gelid, harsh barrier to just disappear and finally meet the warmth of your skin with his.

«It'll be fine, you don't need to worry, Y/n» he eventually explains, changing subjet rather smoothly, you'll give him that. Your fingers are still firmly pushing on the lower part of his dark T visor and, for an istant, you swear you can actually feel his hot breath fanning against the sleek, pitch-black surface.

Clearing your throat, you drop your hand to your lap and force down the bad feeling that started to claw up your chest at the thought of him leaving you and your adoptive child behind to go and meet a shady informant you've never heard of. You don't like this one bit, but Mando's an hardened warrior, a Mandalorian for Maker's sake!, so you'll just have to trust in his abilities and judgement.

«When will you leave?»

«In two days.»

* * *

And, true to his words and in a very Mando-fashion, two days later you are holding Adika to your chest so that the three of you can properly say goodbye. For the time being, of course.

You refuse to even take into consideration the eventuality of never seeing him ever again.

You follow him down the steps of your little hut and towards the barely-there path that leads to the Razor Crest – somewhere deep within the argent forest –, but stop dead in your tracks when he suddenly turns around and places something rather heavy and metallic into your palm.

«Mando?» you breath out in utter confusion, grip feeble and unsure against the glacial handle of the blaster. Wanting nothing more than to just drop it to the ground. You never fired an arm; not against another living being, anyway.

« _Ret'lini_. Just in case» the warrior before you mutters, pushing more urgently the weapon in your trembling, sweaty hand and relaxing only when you stiffly nod and tuck it away in your utility belt. The both of you hoping you'll never have to use it.

«You come back as soon as possible, yeah?»

«I'll always come back to you» he softly murmurs, scratching mechanically one of Adika's floppy, triangular ears, but keeping his hidden gaze on you, almost drinking, _drowning_ , in your beautiful features.

You feel a few tears pricking your eyes and, before you can pause and think – _actually_ think – about it, you're on the tip of your toes and pressing your forehead against his.

Mando let go a ragged breath and stills, but, soon enough, a gloved hand sneaks around your waist and draws you closer with a quiet sigh – minding the child still in your arms, of course.


	3. Syzygy

**SYZYGY - Alignment of celestial bodies**

* * *

_The first time you see Din Djarin’s face, your souls are one and the same and your bodies are silver and moonlight._

The festival of the three moons of Adras is known to last for days on end – if not _weeks_ – and it’s something like you’ve never seen before. Surely not on the desertic Tatooine, where you lived for the most part of your life with your grumpy aunt, Peli.

For the most part of the year, the satellites are not visible to the naked eye, so the festivities usually take place from the dawn of the day the first moon, the smallest one, Alba, starts her arc through the lavender sky – later met by her sisters – until the biggest, Aurora, envelopes completely the other two, seven to twenty days later; the distant sun entirely swallowed by their auras. People will celebrate this long, luminous ascension with huge bonfires, sour food, spicy food, sweets and spirits, wine and frenzied dances, silver on naked skin and dresses of such candour, they almost look made of pure, pearl light. No other colours are allowed during those days, but silver and white.

Moni, a woman with sharp features but kind eyes that’s letting you stay at the shack behind her farm while Mando takes care of the raiders tormenting the village and its surroundings, revealed that in the capital the revels are grand, glorious, if not lavish, and worth taking part in at least once in one’s life, but you don’t mind experiencing it for the first time among the modest community you’ve grown to know pretty well in the last month.

You are out of breath and slightly tipsy for the two cups of sweet alcoholic drink you gulped down to let loose and lose a little inhibition, but you can’t remember the last time you smiled so wide, completely at ease with the people surrounding you.

The intricate, silvery paint donning your flushed skin is now smudged with sweat, but, when you vocalized your concernsof ****ruiningit, earlier that evening, the young boy intent in passing the thin brush over your exposed back explained that that’s indeed part of the main ceremony: dancing and moving around and, when the young ones are all headed to bed, coupling, until the skin is nothing but ethereal silver, a ghost image of the three moons meeting up above.

Much like the Beskar armour covering entirely your companion.

When your mind conjures him up, your eyes instinctively drift (and on their own volition, you might add) to the spot he has taken almost since the very beginning of the evening, keeping a tense stance and sharp, hidden gaze constantly moving between his child, dancing within a circle of toddlers and infants, his squeals of utter joy not at all oppressed by the tribal, hypnotic drums and roar of the bonfire, and, well, you, currently spinning around in the arms of the woman hosting the three of you, gleaming.

Din’s half cast in shadows, a little away from the pulsing core of the feast, and wearing the helmet, but, when you suddenly look up at him, your eyes meet immediately, as if he’s standing right before you, baring his face to your moonlit, frantic gaze.

Behind you, the liquid light of the flames seemingly licks the contours of your body, wearing nothing but the ivory, flowy peplos that exposes the whole of your back and, low cut as it is, a good portion of your cleavage, now embroidered in smudged silver. The diaphanous material of the gown only accentuates the curves and valleys of your hips and legs, feet bare and dirty with black soil. There’s something undeniably sensual about you. Something feral.

He heaves out a shaky breath, his insides clenching with a raw, unnameable, emotion, and quickly diverts his attention to his small _ad'ika_ , desperately trying to regain his stoic composure.

You frown, confused and hurt by the sudden jerk of his helmet _away_ from you.

«Go to him, _ni_ _ṅ_ _a_. He hass been sulking all night, he should at least take part to the dances. Or the Gods will not take kindly his behaviour» Moni notes, making you twirl in her bronze embrace, your limbs brushing the sweaty, argent bodies of the group of wild dancers you are moving along. Her serpentine accent is sharp and cuts easily through the humid air despite the roaring fire, so that she doesn’t have to shout when speaking. You are not as lucky and soon surrender to the idea of a hoarse voice by the end of the long night.

«He doesn’t mean to disrespect, but his Creed…»

«I am not referring to the banquet, _niṅ_ _a._ We know about that Creed of hiss and would not ever dream to ask him to take the helmet off to eat among uss. But it says nothing against dancing. It iss through the dance that the Gods descend among uss.»

You quickly slow down to a stop, your not-very-focused gaze jumping from the woman before you to the Mandalorian keeping himself well away from the crowd of intoxicated and joyous villagers. You sigh and nod in agreement.

«I’ll- _uh_ -go and talk to him, then.»

She smiles and pecks you on the lips in farewell, before dancing her way nearer the roaring flames caressing the cinder sky.

Now that the tall woman is no longer supporting you, you finally realize how wobbly your legs really are and all but stumble in front of the man in Beskar. You feel cold and miss the warmth of the crowd, but any sort of discomfort seems to disappear when he catches your wrists before you tumble face first to the ground.

«Sorry» you blurt out, your forehead, sweaty and incandescent, now pressing against the solid cuirass covering his chest. He grunts something in response and helps you up with apparently no effort at all and you fix your gaze to the dark, unreadable T-visor of his dehumanizing helmet. 

Not for the first time in the last few months, you feel uncomfortable staring at its sharp lines and concave cheeks. A far cry from the softness of his calloused, tattooed hands. Perhaps that’s why lately you feel so uneasy looking at it; now that you have seen a glimpse of the man beneath it, you can’t stop thinking about it. About what he confided to you while you were cauterizing his wounds and saw his gloveless, tan skin for the first time.

_O_ _nly my wife and my child can see my face._

* * *

_Niṅ_ _a: young lady/sweet thing_


	4. Fanaa

**FANAA - Destruction of the self, destroyed in love**

* * *

_Only my wife and my child are allowed to see my face_

You need to chuck out this disruptive thought from your mind, try not to dwell too much on it, but, really, you thought of nothing else for the past months, repeating his cautious words over and over again while alone in your cot, desperately trying to chase a sleep that just would never come, too distracted by him, by the thought of him helmetless, and his smile; his eyes. What colour are they? And how would his voice sound without the modulator changing it?

Sometimes you wish you could go back to the simpler times of your companionship, when there were no brushing of hands and lingering gazes nor so many things left unsaid; when you would easily joke around him, call him off on his curt manners in a playful tone and look at his helmet without the devouring _longing_ to see _more_. When you would sit in the cockpit while he’s piloting the Crest in comfortable silence or talk to him about Peli, an aunt that you actually considered like a mother, and, on rare, beautiful occasions, he’d open up about his past as well. Confiding you his name, his _real_ name, or how his mother would cook him his favourite foods on his birthday – “Sweet, tooth-rotting sweet. Pastries, cream, pancakes and hot cocoa. Every birthday I would wake up to the scent of chocolate cookies. I haven’t had any since…”

But other times you just wake up with a whimper, a deep ache in your core that makes you flush and urgently need a cold, freezing shower. Those nights, you feel you might just combust with the mere thought of him.

And that’s not even the worst part, no. What hurts most is loving him more with each passing day, while seeing him slip away, grow distant, _a_ _stranger_ , in response to your affection.

«Moni says _we_ should dance.» You mean _him_ , really.

«Does she, now?» You don’t know what you were expecting, but that clipped tone of his certainly wasn’t it. He lets go of your wrists and you immediately hug yourself against the sudden icy feeling biting at your exposed skin, the bonfire behind you and the two drinks still running through your system can’t do much against it.

«I think she’s right, you know? – you sputter, biting down at your lower lip when he inclines that kriffing helmet to the side, waiting for explanations. You gladly comply. – We are their guests and it’s incredibly rude of _us_ to stay in a corner, brooding, during a festivity that clearly means so much to them.»

«And, by us, you mean me.» Well, it’s not like you were being subtle at all.

«Yes.»

«I don’t dance» he simply says, atone, his gloved hands now tugging at his waistband, one leg flexing and sustaining the whole weight of his body. Is he really using _that_ posture with you, right now?

«That’s the whole point, though – you exhale from your nose, trying to stay calm. You are tipsy and he is for some reason in a foul mood, you can already see pretty well where this is all leading to. – The dance is _the_ most important part of the festival. It’s how they greet the Gods, or something. You’ll greatly offend them.»

He simply taps his blaster holster, the subliminal message pretty clear. You grunt in frustration at that, all the exhilaration of the party wearing off the more you stay there with him. You put your hands on your waist and cock a hip, somehow mirroring his tense stance.

«Why are you being so difficult? Why can’t we just relax and have a good time, for once?»

«I didn’t ask you to join me. You can go back and dance with them, since you’re having so much fun.» The sarcasm in his tone is not lost to you.

«How do you expect me to? When I know you’re here like that?»

«I don’t need your guilt. Just go back there and forget it.»

«No. Are we fighting?»

«You tell me.»

_Unbelievable_.

«Well, surely I’m not leaving, now. Not until you tell me what’s got into you! – And then it hits you. The way he’s been acting all night, while you were happily twisting from one pair of arms to another. – Are you… _jealous_?» You regret asking it as soon as the question leaves your mouth, but, as selfish as it sounds, that’s really the only explanation that makes sense to you, at the moment. You hate very much the flare of hope scalding your chest.

«Of what» he all but snaps and you take a step back in response. Mando never used that harsh tone on you, before. Yes, it’s not news to you, because you’re very aware and accustomed to his short temper, but he seems to have infinite patience with both you and his child. But now something obviously changed and he won’t even look at you and it hurts.

«You be grateful of that stupid helmet of yours, because I’d already smacked you so hard if you weren’t wearing it.» You let him know, a hiss through gritted teeth.

«Is that so?» And the vocoder makes his voice sound so breathy and soft even through the sharp sarcasm, that you’re really tempted to hit him. Multiple times.

« _You know what?_ You’re right. I don’t know what the kriff is wrong with you, but I just decided that I really don’t care. I won’t let you ruin this night for me, you asshole. You know where to find me, but I hope you won’t.»

He grabs one of your wrists before you can so much as completely turn away from him.

Well, that was fast.

« _Cyare._ » And now he’s really just speaking softly, barely a broken whisper, his fingers keeping you close to him ever so gently, but firmly.

«What’s wrong, Din?» you ask, just as gently, looking back at him, confusion and worry – and annoyance – embed in your sweaty, reddened face. You must be a look, but, unbeknownst to you, Din is just the same.

«I- I’m sorry. For snapping at you like that.»

«That still doesn’t answer me.»

«’M not very good at this.»

«Clearly.»

He sighs and slightly tugs you towards him, your chests almost colliding. So close, in fact, you clearly feel him take in a deep breath, the silver breastplate of the cuirass blinking with the movement.

«I can’t help but think that you look very happy. You never looked this happy and free, before. And- perhaps- perhaps you should stay here, with them» he reasons, voice now so low under the crackling roaring of the bonfire and the tribal drums, you have a hard time catching the meaning of his words. But, when it clicks, you feel as if you’ve been plunged in icy water on a winter night.

« _W_ _hat?_ » You can only manage to croak out, wishing nothing more but for him to rip his helmet off so that you can look at his eyes and see what’s really hiding behind them. You hate it, you hate the helmet so much and the fact that he puts the Creed above everything else, himself included. Of course you deeply respect his beliefs, of course you wouldn’t actually ask him to renounce to it, but, right now especially, you just want to be able to look at him as easily and naturally as he does with you.

«Once I’m done with the raiders, this place will be safe again. It’s a beautiful planet and its habitants are for the most part friendly. You can build a home, here. A- a family, even. Be happy. You deserve to be happy» he whispers and you’ve never heard him so near his breaking point. It’s like it physically pains him to pronounce those words. And, on any other day, you would have stopped and wondered, no, _worried_ , about it. But the _meaning_ of the words hits you with the same, brutal violence of a blaster shot, so you don’t really register the way he speaks them.

«What the _varp_ , Din. No! Just- No. Do you really want to get rid of me so badly?» It’s hard to breath, to focus on anything but the betrayed ache in your heart, the festival behind you now long forgotten. You both know you should be keeping a close look to the kid – still playing among the other children of the village in the muddy soil near the fire – and don’t discuss of such matters when anyone could so easily walk by and hear anything, but, at the same time, you feel… _disconnected_.

«No, that’s not- that’s not what I meant.» He violently shakes his head and does something he’s never done before, only dreamt of. Shaking hands move to cradle your face, the pads of his fingers planting themselves like desperate roots in the soft, argent flesh of your cheeks, seeking your warmth, swallowing up your proximity, despite the thick leather separating your skins.

You gulp down a wet sob and bore you eyes where you think, _hope_ , his might be. Why is he doing this to you? Verbally pushing you away, but physically grabbing you like both of your lives depend on it. It’s confusing and painful and it’s driving you mad.

«Well, it did sound a lot like it, to me – you practically choke out. – You want to leave me behind and, what, act like these last two years never happened?»

«I just want you to be happy and safe» he repeats, insists. Nearly begs.

«I already am.» How can he not see it?

«No, you’re not.»

Your eyes – closed shout without you really noticing it – snap back open and give him a withering look. You push away and the warrior in front of you stumble backwards with a feeble wail.

«Don’t tell me how to feel! Don’t you kriffing dare doing this to me, Din Djarin. You- you _sleemo_ , you _stupa_ sleemo!»

He stills after that. You’re not entirely sure he _speaks_ Huttese, but your insults must be pretty clear anyway. You don’t notice you started crying until he attempts a step back to you and caresses your damp cheeks, trying to dry your tears with the soft leather of his gloves.

«You are a formidable mechanic and Adika loves you. I- you are kind and loyal. Annoying, very annoying. And I- I _care_. About you. I care more than I’m supposed to and you deserve so much more than a life on the run with me.»

«But that’s exactly what I want! – You’d scream of pure frustration, if he hadn’t just admitted to feel, indeed, something for you. How can he not see you return his love with all of yourself? Is that why lately he’s been growing so cold and distant? Because he’s trying to kill his own feelings? – I would never have accepted to work with you, if I wasn’t seeking for such a life. You’re showing me the galaxy, Din. Beautiful, terrible. Full of light and _bloody_. You’re showing me all and more. And the little womp rat- I can’t even imagine a life without him, now. So, no, you’re not leaving me behind. I’m going wherever you are next, because that’s where I’m truly happy and safe. With you and your son. _Our_ son.» You’re once again close to tears and out of breath when you close your mouth and let it sink in. Well, that’s not at all how you pictured things would go, but you just couldn’t stand the way he was self-deprecating himself.

And he’d rip off his helmet and kiss you right then and there, if not for the crowd still dancing and singing behind the two of you. If not that he’s not your husband and wouldn’t dare such a thing. He knows of other Mandalorians that have come up with any sorts of loopholes to _be_ with their companions, without bonding their souls eternally in marriage, and he could never do that to you. It wouldn’t be fair on your part. Why should he be able to see you, the _whole_ of you, when you can’t so much as briefly glimpse at his eyes? Why should he treat you like _less_ than a living being?

So he just takes one last step closer to you and presses his forehead to yours with all the warmth and care he can summon while wearing a mask of cold, unreadable beskar and sharp lines.

Doubts and fears are consuming him, chewing up whatever courage he still has left facing you.

You reciprocate his feelings, you said so so clearly and fiercely, and you see his _ad'ika_ as your own. Whether he’s ready to admit it or not, he always considered you as an integral part of his clan. So, why is he such a _hut'tuun_ and can’t ask you to become husband and wife? To be _o_ _fficially_ a family?

«I am ruined, _cyare –_ he brokenly whispers, studying from the security of his helmet your face, still puffy for crying and arguing, but glorious all the same. – Nothing but rotten work. I’d just drag you down.» Yes, that was why.

«Not to me, Din.» You promise, sneaking your arms, embroidered in smudged silver, around his neck and gently crushing your soft, tepid body against his.

And Din Djarin, the Mandalorian, the legendary warrior and merciless bounty hunter, crumbles before you with a shattering sob. He’s heavy and violently shaking and you hug him to your chest so close, so tight, it’s hard to breath. But neither of you mind it and you just stay like that for what seems like a whole eternity, desperately holding on to each other while the three moons above your heads slowly ascend through the ink black sky, kissing your bodies with their pale, ethereal light, and argent people merrily dance around the roaring bonfire.

You stay like that until your sweet _ad'ika_ , tired of playing with his new friends and covered in black mud, clumsily sways towards you and hugs Din’s boot. His exhausted yawn doesn’t pass unnoticed.

«Mh, someone’s tired» you note with a giggle, looking down at the tiny, green creature. He slowly blinks up at you and motions suggestively with grabby hands.

«Yes» Din blows out, nose running and eyes pink-rimmed, but feeling more grounded and _real_ allthesame, before bending down to pick him up and pressing him affectionately to his cuirass. Adika looks so small and safe in his arms and you can’t help but stare when he all but nuzzles his tiny, botton-like nose against the thick, dark cloth his father’s wearing to cover his neck.

«I’m going to tell Moni we call it off for the night.»

«Yes» Din simply repeats in a hoarse tone.

* * *

The shack behind the farm your host is letting you stay in is not particularly spacious – one bedroom, a tiny kitchenette and an even smaller bathroom, all wood, smooth surfaces and zero technology – but it is cosy enough and you silently sigh when you open the door for Din and the kid, now fast asleep and lightly snoring in his embrace. The rooms still smell of the breakfast you had with the child just this morning, even though it feels like a whole life has passed since then.

You enter the bedroom – the two just right behind you – and nearly collapse on the large cot taking most of the space, but you remind yourself just in time of the silver paint covering entirely what the flowy peplos doesn’t show. You fumble with your bag beside the bed, looking for a napkin or _something_ to quickly wash the colour off of yourself, since you really don’t have the strength to go to the hearth outside and heat up some water for a bath.

«Keep it on.» Comes a mutter from behind you and, when you look over your shoulder with a hitch in your breath, the bounty hunter is staring – you think – at your bare back, Adika safely tucked away in his floating, oval crib.

«What?» your voice is a barely audible whisper, but that’s all you can exhale, with your nerves all knotted together and the way you can feel his gaze rasping against you.

«Keep it- for the night. You- you look beautiful.» It sounds like a pleading and your body _tingles_ with it. But you feel cold when you see him spread one of the blankets to the ground like he’s done for the past three weeks. And, after you shared such and intimate moment, back at the bonfire, it feels wrong for him to keep doing it.

«Don’t sleep on the floor, tonight» you stop him in a faint prayer.

«I-»

«Please, Din.» And, now, you are the one begging, going so far as taking his gloved hands in yours and tugging him slightly towards you. _Please,_ _Din, please_.

He heaves a sigh, his tensed shoulders seemingly dropping, but steps closer all the same, chests brushing, fingers holding tightly.

«I know what you want to ask me and you already know the answer» you softly murmur, slowly sitting on the bed – and kindly forcing him to do the same. The springs squeak under your weights and you find yourself sliding against his side; a planet gravitating around its sun.

«I’m afraid my hope is deceiving me. I am not worth of you, _cyare_.»

«Then, ask me» you quietly speak, pressing your feverish forehead against the cold pauldron enveloping his trembling shoulder.

You feel a feather-like touch against your exposed back and shiver.

«You’re still young, I don’t- I don’t want you to regret it.»

«How could I ever regret spending the rest of my life married to the man I love?»

The vocoder doesn’t quite catch the broken whimper escaping his lips, but you are close enough to hear it falling down the sharp lip of his helmet.

«I’m not a baby, Din, I know what I want.»

«You’re in love with an idea. How can you love someone you don’t even know the face of?»

«I love a man who’s good at heart and kind, despite his past and way of life. Who cried when a droid sacrificed itself and is ready to give his own life for the well being of a child.

\- You have flaws, who doesn’t? – and have done things you are not proud of, but you’re also strong and gentle and I don’t need to see your face to know this, Din. So stop telling me how to feel and never doubt my love.»

He’s silent for a long, _very_ long, while, but you don’t press him. You said what you had to say, what was keeping you awake for all these months, so there’s not much else you can do. You don’t expect for him to say it out loud, you know how guarded he is with his feelings, but he already told you how deeply he cares for you and that’s enough. You’ve always been the one wearing your heart on your sleeve, after all. You don’t mind doing it in this instance as well.

He silently takes one of your hands and, turning slowly to you, brings it to one side of the helmet. Then he repeats the gesture with the other.

Your smile is wet with tears when you tighten your grip on the artificial, beskar cheeks, its sharp edges biting at your pads.

«Yes?» You’re the one asking for confirmation, because, as much as you are _dying_ to finally meet his eyes, you’re also very aware of what a huge step it is for him – baring his face to someone that’s not his own kid since he, himself, was but a child – and are ready to wait for as long as it takes. Or not see him at all, if that’s what he decides at the end. But his grip on your wrist is firm, pure, gentle iron, and he nods.

«Yes.» A silvery word, barely audible, barely a breath of air, but booming in the echoing silence of the room.

You swear your heart loses a beat – perhaps _multiple_ beats – and the smile that lights up your face menaces to cut your mouth in half, such is the happiness and excitement filling you up.

You feel light-headed, drunk and febrile, but you know it has nothing to do with the festival still vibrating through your veins and everything with the man ready to bare himself before you.

With a deep breath, you start to slip the helmet off with cautious, millimetric movements.

Sharp chin, clenched jaw. You’ve already seen his hands, so his olive skin doesn’t come as a surprise, but you do grin at his patchy, salt and pepper stubble. You lift it a little more.

His breath his ragged, humid and sweet, and you pause a second, just taking in the feeling for the first time. Plump, chapped lips, the lower one drawing a slight pout, and rosy, chubby cheeks. He’s anxiously chewing on them and an adorable, deep dimple kisses the right one. 

You smile at the sight and lift the helmet all the way up, over his aquiline nose and fading scars, his bushy, expressive eyebrows and furrowed brow. His hair is dark, wavy, only in part tamed – longer than you expected –, and flattened by the constant pressure of the helmet and sweat. You leave the eyes last and are very much close to tears when your gazes finally meet, no black, glassy barriers in between. 

They are beautiful, puffy and pink-rimmed with tears, but beautiful. Slightly almond-shaped, a rich shade of brown with specks of hazel and bronze hugging a blown out, jet black pupil. They are intense and full of longing and you find yourself blushing furiously under their unwavering attention.

You take your time to sit the helmet by your feet, then, high with exhilaration and braveness, you straddle his lap, the icy armour biting merciless at your naked thighs, and graze his jaw with trembling fingers.

«Hello, Din Djarin» you whisper with a soft smile and his eyebrows pinch together in endearing confusion.

«Hello» he mirrors, his tone strangled and quavering with emotions, but smoky and soothing nonetheless.

You start tracing his traits with wonder and love and he closes is eyes, long lashes fluttering against high cheekbones, a sigh barely leaving his lips and landing on yours, his fingers digging in the soft flesh of your waist.

«You are very handsome.» It’s all you manage to blurt out, while still admiring his crooked nose and scars, smooth and silver-pale against his tan skin. He only hums, the rumbling sound reverberating against you even through the beskar chestplate and layers of fabric still separating you. 

When you sink your hands in his silky, damp hair, tugging playfully at it, his breath itches, rapid and coarse, and a soft blush dusts his face. Upon his unfiltered reactions, you fall in love all over again.

«And cute» you conclude and he _smiles_. Bright, pure, almost childish, a stark contrast with the sharp beskar he’s still wearing all over his body.

You cant’ help but smile back and then his lips are on yours, hesitant at first, freezing after every single peck, but growing more needy and desperate with each passing second. 

At one point, you find yourself pinned to the mattress by his _very_ solid body. You scrape his scalp – smirking at the low growl leaving his throat – and inhale his scent, somehow richer than it has ever been before. He smells of the lemon soap Moni helped you prepare one particularly dull afternoon, with something deeper you can’t quite place; wood smoke and hints of spice; gasoline and sweat, perhaps.

Your heart jumps wildly in your chest when he leaves a trail of fire down your neck, nipping and kissing at the sensitive skin just above your collarbone. You squirm under him, as a soft giggle escapes your lips.

«It tickles» you murmur in response to his quirked eyebrow, following with the pad of your index finger his moustache. His face flushes softly and then he’s kissing you again, forehead gently pressed against yours.

«The vows» he reminds you eventually, barely pulling away, loudly out of breath, still caging you with his toned figure. His mouth is smeared with silver paint and his eyes are ablaze.

You can only nod, face cracked in a huge smile, still feverish and tingling at his revering attentions.

It takes you some time to get the words right, the Mando'a feeling unfamiliar and harsh on your tongue, but, when he pronounces the vows with you in his honeyed baritone, it is the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard.

_We are one when together. We are one when parted. We share all. We will raise warriors_.

«I see you» you mutter, helping him out of his armour, core aching with desire.

«I see you» he repeats, breathless, tracing once again your lips with his.

* * *

Later that night, when you are linked in both souls and bodies, and you are sleeping safely in your husband arms, the child wakes and, leaving his crib, clumsily toddles towards your shared cot.

You are deeply asleep and don’t notice him trying, stubborn as ever, to climb up the covers and join you, but Din does and, with a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, lifts him up with one, tattooed arm, and let him nestle between the warmth of your two bodies. Adika coos happily when you instinctively scoot closer to them and Din hugs you both to him, finally at peace. 

_Finally a clan of three._


	5. Dolorous

**DOLOROUS - Grieving, full of sorrow**

* * *

_The first and last time Din says he loves you, you are unable to answer back._

Din limped inside his – _beloved_ – ship with a soundless grunt and almost dropped his discharged rifle to the ground – more than ready to follow it suit –, but restrained himself when he noticed his adoptive son looking up at him with its leaf-like ears bent in concern.

«That was a close one, uh?» Cara called back with a sigh of relief, ready to close the Razor Crest lateral hatch once you’d boarded as well. She couldn’t wait to leave that kriffing planet, especially after the ambush they just barely escaped from.

But seconds collided one into the other and, then, a whole minute passed and still no trace of you. And Cara Dune knew the Mandalorian pretty well to know for sure that he wouldn’t walk so far ahead of you, not during a dangerous situation like that one. Not ever.

The few times she saw the two of you together, you were basically brushing shoulders from how close you were to each other and she surely didn’t miss the way one of his gloved hands would just barely rest on the small of your back, tugging you closer ever so slightly.

«Wait- Where is Y/n?» she asked in a troubled tone, uncertainty darkening her strong, masculine features, eyes still searching for you in the crepuscular, dry air of Ireth IV. Mando immediately stopped reassuring his son that they were all safe, now, and turned towards the former rebel veteran in such an abrupt way that he almost knocked down the crates he was leaning into for support.

«What do you mean with that? They were right behind you» he snapped, starting to blame himself for not going straight looking for you as soon as he came back, but he foolishly presumed you were somewhere else inside the ship, perhaps refreshing yourself or up to the cockpit, reading the engines for the takeoff. He joined Cara in a haste, body so tense with worry under the armor, the skin was practically about to crack over his muscles.

«Yes, but then they run back to you before I could stop them. You didn’t- you didn’t see them?» Din didn’t answer her, desperately trying to reach you to the comlink instead, but to no avail. Only dead statics came out of the line. It was broken or malfunctioning, that’s all. You were likely making your way back to the Crest in that same moment and they were worrying for nothing. Worst case scenario, you got hurt and couldn’t walk properly and that’s why it was taking you so long. He clenched his fists, trying to keep the other, atrocious, thought at bay. Refusing to take it into consideration.

«Stay on the ship with the kid.»

«Mando, what if-?»

«No – he almost barked in response. If she said it out aloud, he feared he might have just collapsed to the floor, because then he wouldn’t have been able to not think about you, dead somewhere. And all because you came back to help him fight off those hunters and he didn’t notice you. – They are fine. We’ll be right back.»

And then he was off, ragged breath, shoulder pulsing for the blaster shot hitting where the beskar pauldron couldn’t protect it, screaming for your name with all the energy he had left in his beaten up body. You were alright. You had to be.

Now that he found you, he could no longer bare to think about conducing an existence without you by his side.

You were his ray of sunshine; his starlight; his ad'ika’s buir.

His _riduur_.

Your voice mockingly echoed in his mind at that last thought, accent all wrong while you were repeating the wedding vows over and over again under your breath to get the mando'a words right, brow furrowed in concentration and face adorably flushed – specular to his, actually, but he was still hiding behind the helmet, a nervous wreck because you were about to join your souls and he would have showed his face to someone else for the first time in thirty years.

“I love you, Din”, you murmured later that night, the tip of your nose brushing against his, a beautiful smile lighting up your features. You were basically glowing in his arms, almost as if he caught a star between his trembling fingers.

He had yet to say it back, to vocalize how much he cared for you, loved you; how he’d gave up his life in an instant, just to ensure your safety.

He ran a little faster, called your name a little louder. Silence; deafening, absolute silence was all he received back.

And, when he reached the clearing in which the other bounty hunters ambushed your group just less than an hour before, he stopped dead in his tracks and almost collapsed to his knees. Because, there you were, harshly pressed to the muddy ground by another body, your vibroblade impaling them.

Unmoving, your hair spread around your head like a grim aureole, legs folded under you and arms slightly perpendicular to your torso, like the broken wings of a bird fallen down the sky.

He drawn in a sharp breath when his desperate gaze finally landed on your face. Pale, ashen, drained of all color. Lifeless.

«Cyar'ika» was all he could say, his tone so strained and shattered the voice modulator of his helmet could barely analyze it.

He was by your side in a blink of an eye. He didn’t even register his own movements when he dropped heavily next to you and pushed the dead hunter’s body as far away from you as possible, before picking you up and setting you with the utmost care on his lap.

He called your name. A whisper. A question forever left without an answer.

He set his visor on infrared, but your body was already losing all of his warmth. Your skin turning livid, your traits rigid and unnatural.

With a low, broken growl Mando ripped his helmet off, not really caring where it landed when he hastily threw it away. He couldn’t stand it anymore. But the sense of suffocation only increased when he finally set his own eyes – no filters, no barriers – on your corpse. He pressed his ear against your unmoving sternum, then against your petrified throat, in a frantic search for a heartbeat. But emptiness was all he heard. Emptiness was all you were now.

Din felt like throwing up, loud sobs wreaking him from the inside out. He caressed your cheeks, your lips, your eyelids, branding the feeling of you to his memory for the last time.

«Y/n? Y/n, please, please come back. It’s over now, you’re safe. I’m here. You’re safe.» Begging voiceless and cradling you to his chest, he pressed his forehead to yours, eyes tightly shut, his warm, painful tears soaking your dead skin.

«I’m here – he repeated in shallow breaths, tightening his grip around you and tugging your head under his chin. – Come back to me, please. I can’t-» he gritted his teeth and hid his face in you hair, breathing in your scent for the last time. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair!

You deserved more time together. You deserved to be happy.

«I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I love you, cyar'ika.» And then he repeated it over and over again, wishing he let you know when you were still alive, wishing to just wake up from this nightmare with you tracing his traits with gentle fingers, a small, sleepy smile gracing your lips.

And when you’d whisper to him those three words, he’d kiss your hand and murmur them back without a second thought, because he would never make that same mistake again. Never again he would go a single moment without telling you.

«I love you.»

But, this time, you were the one not reciprocating it and the only sound present in the clearing were Din’s howls of pain.


End file.
